23

Kaitlyn

"One bus sunk. People ran off—onto the tundra in the dark," Vera yells, jumping off her reindeer. "Gleb's in the water. There's gasoline on the water. It's chaos."

"Where's Artyom?" I ask although I can see the terror written on Vera's face.

"He dove into the ocean after Gleb! Why else do you think I raced over here on my own?" Tears drop from her wobbling chin.

"He swims to hunt narwhals, seals, and whales every summer," I say, nodding at her. "He wouldn't have jumped in if he wasn't confident that he would come out."

"Ride with me, Vera, show us the way," Sergei commands, approaching us on his reindeer. He reaches for Vera with one arm and tosses her in front of him. "Serik, take Vera's reindeer. I don't want to risk your vehicle on the thin ice. Let's go!"

While intellectually I know Sergei and Vera's combined weight is more than Serik's and mine, it's still scary to mount the reindeer that held petite Vera. Sergei's reindeer is much larger. If Sergei didn't trust the smaller reindeer with his giant body, then how can he trust it with ours? Did he think I would sit inside Gleb's home until they returned? I'd be offended, but that's exactly what I did for my first month with Serik.

I was a coward…but not anymore.

Wow, my man is sexy when he's all back-to-nature. None of the guys I dated in college or grad school could swing onto a wild reindeer—let alone a skittish one who nearly threw their driver moments ago. Of course, they weren't tall, scary snow monsters either. No, they were a different type of monster—the type with yellow bellies and designer shoes.

Images of old Hollywood cowboys fill my head as Serik drives the animal toward me. In the same one-armed move, he swings me up to ride in front of him. As we tear off after the rest of the Chuchunya, I can't help but squeeze his biceps and forearms to show my appreciation for his strength. He treats me as if I'm dainty, while also loving my curvaceous figure.

"I love you, Serik," I say with a sigh as I lean back onto his chest.

"I love you too, mate, but I'm not dying today." His mouth is set to a firm line when I look up at him. He grinds his molars and glares at the tundra.

"That's not why I said it," I say with a deep breath as I rephrase my thoughts. My mate takes everything as criticism. He should know I trust him to swim in the Arctic Ocean to rescue people. That's easier than hunting narwhals, right? "I love how you included me, how you didn't make a big deal out of lifting me, and how capable you are on the tundra. I'm calm and content in your arms."

"In that case, say more," he says, kissing my forehead.

"Shut up!" I pinch his nipple and twist it.

"Ouch! You haven't said I'm handsome yet…or fierce…or sexy. So please continue," he says between chuckles.

"Good thing your ego will keep you buoyant!" I pinch him again. "When you take me home, I'll use all those words as you make love to me in our car. Deal?"

"Deal," he replies, squeezing me tighter.

Chaos reigns at the Maple Sweets Green Tours campsite. One bus and one jeep drift slowly into the Arctic Ocean. Another bus hangs off the coast and sinks fast. A generator torn from its tent spews gasoline from gyrating hoses. The fumes burn my nostrils. People yell and curse as they fight to keep their heads above water. Somewhere a baby cries.

"Vera, Kaitlyn, tie the reindeer to the birch trees out of the way. Serik, Kiril, pick partners and go rescue who you can. I'm diving in," Sergei bellows.

Nobody dares to argue. Serik bounces off the back of our reindeer, crooks his finger at Marat, and runs to the coastline without looking back. While I didn't choose to live in my apartment, I'm happy I ran away because I received a four-hour training on reindeer with Sydney and Vera. I'm in charge of managing the animal under me—who I don't entirely trust after she nearly threw Vera—and gathering the reins of three other abandoned animals. Talk about trial by fire!

"Take these to the stand of trees," Vera says, tossing three loops of leather into my lap—loops of leather attached to reindeer half scared out of their minds. "I'll chase down the one Kiril abandoned."

Now I'm wrangling seven reindeer. Look at me! With my back to the dangers of the beach, I can keep my cool.

Oh, trees my ass!The birch trees' trunks are the width of my wrist. Those won't hold the reindeer for long. Unfortunately, they are the best option for now. The thickest one has a reindeer tied to it already. I'm guessing it's the one Artyom rode on the way up. Would the animals be calmer on the other side of the brush? They would have a buffer against the fumes and screaming. I lead them around to the far side and tie each one to a spindly birch tree.

"Stay here like good little children and someone will reward you after this," I coo. What do you know? They like my baby-talking. "Be good little reindeer, like in the story books."

"Last one," Vera says, dismounting before her reindeer stops. "Come with me. I have an idea. The men aren't going to like it, but we need a base of operations."

"Girl power."

"That bus is running." Vera points to a pair of headlights on the coast.

"One wheel is submerged," I fire back. The angle of the bus suggests it will be at the bottom of the ocean in the next hour.

"But three are on ice. We're going to drive it onto firmer ground."

"How? There's nothing for the tire treads to grab," I argue, crossing my arms over my chest.

"We have plenty of dirt under our feet," she says, shrugging out of her coat. She ties the arms together before dropping to her knees. Her little hands push dirt into the inside of her coat.

"Why didn't you turn your jacket inside out?" I ask with a huff before removing my jacket. We scoop mounds of dirt while dodging the hooves of Artyom's reindeer and listening to the nervous grunts of the animals behind the trees.

"That's all I can carry, so it will have to be enough," she shouts, jumping to her feet and looping the arms of her jacket over her shoulders.

Dammit, she takes off running. I hate running. Why does Chuchunya life require so much running? We run in a chase to mate, we run to the rescue, and we run between three homes. Maybe when more women get knocked up, we can knock off the running. I copy her backward backpack move with my jacket, but the outer fabric is slippery. "You could have said inside out doesn't work!"

Ten steps toward the beach, I push myself a little harder. Humans fight for their lives against the waves as Chuchunya drag them to shore. I lose count of victims as their heads crest and disappear. Scanning the horizon for sharks or killer whales, it's too dark to discount other opportunists who want a human snack. My panic constricts my diaphragm and I gulp for air. Serik's on a chunk of ice way off the coast. My heart skips a beat when he dives headfirst into the black water.

"Dump half in front of the driver's tire," Vera yells from the opposite side of the bus.

The driver's side door swings open without a driver to seal it shut. They must have abandoned the vehicle in a fit of panic. Why else wouldn't they drive it to higher ground? We pour our dirt in front of the tires before moving to the final tire. It gets the most dirt as we empty our loads. Let's hope this bus has front wheel drive!

Back in the front of the bus, Vera hops into the driver's seat and floors the gas pedal. The tires throw dirt into the air as they grapple for purchase. She yanks the steering wheel, but it won't budge. She stands on the black leather seat, pushing off the back to lean her weight onto the steering column.

"Move it," I shout as I charge up the stairs. Behind the driver's seat is a living area, and the bus is more like an RV, but I squash my curiosity. I don't want to be on the thin ice a second longer than I have to be. I'd rather be with the reindeer, watching Serik's big ego bob on the waves. Hell—scratch that—I'd rather be cuddled in his arms back on the central grounds. But I joined his clan and volunteered to be a part of the rescue efforts, so I'll do what I do best.

I throw my weight around to get my way—usually figuratively, but not today.

My arm holds Vera on her perch as I wedge my body between the wheel and the seat. Tapping on the gas pedal, I lay my upper body over the wheel. The vehicle rocks back and forth with each surge of fuel. The tires can't gain traction on the ice. Vera kicks against the chair to add her weight behind my right hip as I push forward to tilt the wheels. The steering column turns about thirty degrees, but it's enough. I change my angle to twist it thirty degrees to the left. Alternating between the two positions, the tires kick the dirt beneath them and stop sliding.

"Hold on to my shoulders," I yell to Vera as I floor it. The bus jumps forward a few meters, roaring like a polar bear. Vera hugs my neck while bouncing on the seat as I maneuver the beast onto solid ground.

"Drive straight ahead," Vera says, pointing to an open patch. "If you go too close to our reindeer, they will freak out and break free."

"Good call."

A group of wide-eyed humans stands huddled behind a snow drift—our first patients. They rush to the back of the bus and wait in line as if I pulled up to a streetside depot, not yanked the vehicle from the ocean. They must be in shock and defaulting to routine instructions the driver gave them earlier. With the bus parked, I leap down to kiss the ground but run smack into a pissed-off Serik instead. Vera hits the ground running, leaving me to deal with my frosty mate.

Serik

Watching my mate climb into a sinking bus took ten years off my life. I was in the middle of the ocean when her swinging ponytail caught my attention. She ran across the ice with her jacket in her arms instead of keeping her body warm. I saw red when I realized she and Vera boarded the doomed vehicle. Each time the beast rolled backward, my mind spun horrible images of her drowning, of her funeral pyre, and of the next zima season when I'm forced to return to the place that took her from me.

"I can explain," she starts, fumbling with the tip of her ponytail.

"I don't give a shit," I snap, gathering her into my arms. "I don't care who dies today as long as it's not you—got it? No more heroics. You are brave, smart, and strong enough to save people, but I'm asking you not to. I'm a selfish svoloch who can't live with you."

"No more heroics," she says with a muffled voice. She sounds small. Am I holding her too tightly? If I knew she didn't care about the others either, I'd throw her to the ground and rut her right here, once for taking off her coat when the freezing spray could burn her skin and, again, for putting herself in danger. Thanks to her bus rescue, I felt what her death would do to me.

Dushevnayasvyazis a force more powerful than the tides.

"Serik, you can let go! I won't leave the bus. It's heated. Bring me survivors."

"You better be here when I return," I growl into her hair.

I spank her butt hard as Marat joins us. He carries a waterlogged human over his shoulders. "Here's your first human, chernyrozd, save him but don't get too attached." I growl to watch her squirm.

"You're crazy, Serik," she says with a little blush. "Bring me more."

"You heard my mate," I say to Marat, and we run back to the beach. We pass Vera and Artyom dragging a woman to the bus. I point Marat to where Kiril and his partner lift a pair out of the water. While he runs to tell them about Kaitlyn's bus, I head to where Sergei punches a generator. He's trying to shut it off but relies on brute strength, and sprays gasoline everywhere. He stinks of gas when I approach. A deflated fabric enclosure slides along the ice as the generator rattles.

"Let me handle the machine," I shout over the whirl and sputter of the generator. "Kaitlyn taught me the symbols on her truck. I should be able to read the buttons."

"Thank goodness, I hate these things," Sergei yells. "I'm better at diving for survivors."

"Bring the living ones to the bus. Kaitlyn and Vera have a warm place to keep them," I shout after him. Did he hear me? He couldn't get away from this thing fast enough. At least the salty seawater will wash the gas from his fur. Adam and Patricika fret over his skidoo gas all the time because it can burst into flames. What would turn liquid gasoline into fire? Our decision to leave our cat at Gleb's house is our best of the night.

The generator has many switches that resemble the ones on the cat's dashboard. When I flick the one that looks like a headlights button, the beast's growl drops an octave. When I jiggle the lever that should activate the front windshield scraper, nothing happens. Probably because this machine doesn't have a windshield. Come on, think you, Svoloch. I walk around the generator, scanning the sides for something I've missed.

Like a key.

I turn the key and the machine goes silent. The hose drops to the ground. Gas leaks in small bursts, but at least it isn't spraying a meter in circles anymore. Puffing with pride that I conquered a beast Sergei couldn't, I drag the generator and tent inland. Maybe without the gas spraying, the smell will evaporate. My nose, eyes, and lungs burn. I miss the salt of the ocean air.

What? Is that my mate running toward the water when she promised to stay inside the bus?

Kaitlyn

"Coffee's on," Vera calls from inside the bus. She pours tiny tin mugs to distribute to those I have triaged in the living space. Warm drinks will heal most of their ailments.

I don't know if their limbs are broken or badly sprained, so I treat them as broken. Better safe than sorry, right? From splinting limbs with birch trees to closing gashes with butterfly bandages, I'm the Florence Nightingale of the Arctic. Not bad for a chick who doesn't like blood. I've grown leaps and bounds since I left the anthropology lab and I have Serik to thank for it.

"I must admit saving this vehicle to hold the people chilled to the bone was a stroke of genius, Vera."

"There are monsters out there," says a man whose nose is blue with cold. His shaky hands grab my arm as I hand him a mug of coffee.

"Those are human men dressed in fur-lined dive suits. They look like monsters, but I promise our husbands wouldn't hurt a fly," I reassure him while peeling his frozen fingers from my sleeve.

Vera smirks at me over his head. Our husbands would hunt flies and bigger things for sport, but these people don't realize how close to death's door they stood. They owe their lives to the Chuchunya, but we'd rather they forget them. The last thing we need is stories of the Chuchunya to reach the fanatical monster hunters or the press. Vera repeats my white lie to the man she's serving, and I hope the tale spreads.

"The one who pulled me out had fangs," wails another man. Not him too! Why does everyone feel the need to comment on Serik's teeth?

"No orthodontists in the Arctic," I snap. My growly stomach is hangry—making me testy. I should have eaten more as we drove to Gleb's, but I was too anxious about the welfare of the tourists. My adrenaline carried me through the establishment of our little medical camp. The danger seems distant from inside the warm confines of the bus, and my body asks for fuel in the worst way.

A headache screams at my temples.

"Who brings their baby to the Arctic Tundra? Why hasn't anyone soothed it yet?" I bark while rubbing my brow for relief. The wounded will need the few aspirin Vera found in the first aid kit, so I don't dare to take a dose.

"What baby? I don't hear anything but the bus's engine," Vera says, pausing with a mug just out of reach of a young woman.

"Maybe I'm hearing things," I mumble. The din of voices and crying within this small space must affect me more than I realize. My old claustrophobia and hatred of crowds join my headache to roar in my mind. "I need some air."

I step outside as the generator's whirring stops. Without the loud engine and spraying of gasoline, the cries of those on the beach are louder. I wave to Serik, who drags the neutralized machine with its attached tent inland. He doesn't acknowledge me, but seeing him on land and uninjured makes my heart soar with giddiness. All along the icy shore are Chuchunya dragging people, luggage, and debris from the ocean. They make a pile of belongings for the humans to sort through once they've recovered. Sergei and Kiril dive in separate rescue missions. Their heads pop up for air every minute or so as they search below the water's surface.

I still hear that baby crying. Could I be going into shock too?

Far in the distance, three lumps on an ice sheet catch my attention. One by one they are snatched off and dragged into the water by a Chuchunya. It's too far to see who. The group of four join hands to make a ring as they float inland. I squint to identify the Chuchunya. He's smaller than Kiril, so I'm guessing it's Gleb, the youngster who wouldn't leave the humans' side. Does he swim with men? Women? Children? How many children are on this Arctic expedition? Dragging a baby to such a dangerous place can't be legal, can it?

Who am I kidding? From the singular tent to the camp placement on thin ice, nothing about this operation was by the book. The meager first aid supplies on the bus weren't enough for a group this size. Yes, they lost a bus before we arrived, but I don't believe the lost bus was full of medical supplies. Too many people need sleeping accommodations. I count two dozen people—plus one phantom baby—on the beach. How many are lost at sea? If the buses are identical and held twenty people total, four slept in the tent, and a few slept in the jeeps currently floating out to sea, that makes sense. A hospital bus means they were short beds. I love numbers because they don't lie.

Someone took a tremendous risk with these people's lives and lost.

The ring of four bobbing in the water is half the distance from the shore. Sergei's powerful arms peek between waves as he swims toward them. My anxiety drops in half. Sergei will take care of them. I see why so many Chuchunya want him to be the next clan leader despite the clan's laws. A dushevnayasvyaz of one of Timor's daughters is supposed to be the leader, but seeing Sergei in action, I'd back him every day of the week. Why should Timor's timid daughters have the power to decide the fate of the clan? Archaic and stupid.

Stupid, like whoever brought that baby on a polar expedition.

I scan the beach for someone holding a tiny bundle. Vera's mugs have made it onto the beach as people search for their travel companions. Some carry towels or sheets to the newly rescued. Chuchunya drag water-logged items to the baggage pile. Nobody cradles a baby-shaped bundle. I squint at each ice patch floating on the sea for a bundle of fabric, but luckily, no abandoned babies are out there. Two groups swim to shore—the ring of four and Kiril's retrieval of someone who didn't survive.

The ring of four people is about ten meters away. They are led by the Chuchunya who is significantly smaller than Sergei—but aren't we all? The little Chuchunya tows a person in a bright pink puffer jacket by the shoulders. I know that jacket! It's the latest fashion, worn by dozens of undergrads this past winter semester. I'd bet my bottom dollar an early to mid-twenties lady is in the coat.

Why doesn't she hold hands with the Chuchunya? The person next to her wears a white top with tanned arms sticking out of it. Brrr… They wrap their arm around her shoulders and threaten to drown her with every rise of the tide.

Why aren't they holding her hands, either? I run to the shore before it hits me. The red-haired lady in the pink coat holds a baby. Serik calls me from a distance, but I'm too focused on the bundle of black fabric held by the woman to answer him. Everything decent inside me screams for me to reach that baby.

I run to the shore and come to a skidding stop at the waterline. Black waves lap the ice like ghostly hands to pull me under. Fear of being trapped beneath the murky water or a floating ice sheet crawls up my spine.

I can't jump in. Claustrophobia glues my boots to the ice. I drop to my knees and reach for the people. My extended hand waves like a white flag of surrender. Please let this little family live. The small Chuchunya, the redhead in the sparkly coat clutching the crying baby, the young man in the soaked tee-shirt, the middle-aged woman with her mouth contorted into a silent scream, and Sergei float with the tide. The Chuchunya wear expressions of exhaustion.

"The baby!" I shout as they approach me. A deluge of relief and joy floods my body as they transfer the bundle into my arms. Serik crouches behind me. His jaw drops in shock and his eyes glaze with horror when he sees what I hold. I twist to face his warmth as I unwrap the bundle. Tiny purple lips wail while grey fists punch his fur. I open my dirty coat and press the baby against my chest. "I'm taking the baby inside the bus," I say to Serik without inflection.

"Grab the woman," Sergei yells, which snaps Serik out of his trance.

Serik lifts my elbows to help me stand before wrapping his arms around the black-haired woman. He lifts her from the water as Sergei climbs out beside them. Quick on his feet, Sergei stands with the woman and heads toward the bus. I should follow them, but I'd rather walk with Serik. He pulls the redhead in the sparkly coat closer to shore.

The smaller Chuchunya growls. What the hell?

"Gleb, I swear on my dushevnayasvyaz I only want to bring her to safety," Serik says. "Rescue the male while we take her to a warm place."

The small Chuchunya flashes his fangs but doesn't strike Serik as my male pulls the woman out. She's silent. Her body flops onto the ice as if it used the last of her strength to deliver the baby. I've never been prouder of Serik as he throws her over his shoulder and wraps his other arm around me. Together, we race for the bus.

"Where have you been? I've been running like a chicken with its head cut off—"

"Take the baby," I interrupt Vera by shoving the wet, crying bundle at her. "It needs all the things, and I don't know all the things."

"Hey, little lady," Vera coos. "I know just what you need. This must have been your room because there's a pretty pink travel bassinet and pretty pink jammies that I think belong to you."

"Madison," murmurs the redhead over Serik's shoulder. "Madison."

"Put her down and let me look at her," I tell Serik. She's wobbly on her feet, but the woman has the strength to push her dripping hair from her face. Her eyes roll and drift as she tries to focus on my face. I hold her chin before she can look too closely at my snow monster, who holds her upright. "Are you Madison, or is the baby named Madison?"

"Madison is my charge," she slurs. Her head drops backward onto Serik's shoulder. "I'm just the nanny."

She makes eye contact with Serik, who smiles with all his fangy goodness. I love my male's smile, but his timing is the worst. She takes one look at his mouth full of fangs and faints.

Sergei emerges from behind the bus with a hoard of soaking Chuchunya. I point to the stand of trees where, hopefully, our reindeer remain tethered. Beyond the bus and the reindeer lie five bodies on the sand with their arms folded over their chests. Kiril and Artyom add a sixth to the end of the row. Sergei juts his chin to Kiril to lead the young, exhausted males to the reindeer.

Artyom approaches Sergei behind the bus but doesn't join us. The first rays of dawn glitter over the snow to the east. If we wish to keep our clan's secret one more day, we must get out of here. The survivors will believe my ‘husbands in furry dive suits' lie, think they hallucinated their rescuers, or forget their rescuers entirely.

"Vera! Find that kid's parents," I shout into the bus. Someone's taking responsibility for the baby before I leave the shore. "We've got to go."

"Ride behind Artyom and Vera to your cat," Sergei says to Serik. "We can't leave a single animal up here. They are too far away from the herds and won't survive."

"It will be done," mumbles Artyom from the shadows.

"Where's the male human?" Sergei barks at someone behind me.

Gleb stomps across the beach like a pouting toddler. He shakes the water from his hair, showering Serik and me with freezing spray. I open my mouth to yell at him but get a whiff of vanilla. Serik's vanilla clashes with the cloyingly sweet scent invading my nose. Who does this belong to? Artyom and Sergei are too far away, so it must be Gleb. Wasn't he Manya's pleasure mate? Pleasure mates don't cause pheromones to release, so shouldn't he stink like a wet dog and not like a gas station air freshener?

"He didn't make it out of the water," Gleb declares, as if daring one of the bigger Chuchunya to challenge him.

"The lady Sergei brought in is the baby's mother. Madison is with her now. Let's get this lady into the warmth and one of the other survivors can help her get settled. I want out of here. It's only a matter of time before someone reaches for a cell phone," Vera says, leaning out of the bus.

Gleb grabs the redhead from where she's propped against Serik. He swings her into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. Sergei rushes forward to block Gleb's path to the bus, knocking Serik onto the sand. I step around Gleb to kneel beside Serik. My hands frantically pat his chest and rub his arms. He's fine, but after watching him defy death in the ocean, I'm not taking any chances.

"We leave for the central grounds. Manya awaits you at your dyla weturanya," Sergei rumbles, standing over Gleb aggressively.

I doubt he can smell Gleb's vanilla over his and Serik's pheromones, but any female can tell the difference. Sergei's scent is slightly bitter, like vanilla coffee. Artyom's more so. Serik's has a hint of spice while Gleb's scent is sugary-cereal vanilla. If Sergei knew Gleb held his soulmate, I bet he would lighten up. But maybe not…the fainted woman can't consent to leave her group with Gleb, and Sydney says Sergei's a stickler for a woman's consent in everything.

"I'm staying," Gleb fires back.

I stand to intervene, but Serik grabs my elbow and hauls me back down. "It's not our place, chernyrozd," he whispers. We join Artyom and Vera behind the bus, but I crane my neck as far as I can to listen.

"Your place is on the southern grounds with your clan. I'm not asking you to join us. I'm telling you to leave the northern grounds before you expose us all," Sergei whispers, but his whisper is louder than most people talk.

"You aren't my leader," Gleb sneers. He bumps Artyom's shoulder as he storms past us with the redhead lying limply in his arms.